Read Online The Teacher's Secret by Suzanne Leal - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Suzanne Leal
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already got fifteen balls. Already!’
Terry smiles. ‘Good work,’ he says, but Cody’s still got more to tell.
‘We reckon we’ll get thirty, minimum. Dad says they’re everywhere, golf balls that just get left here.’
Terry hadn’t noticed Scott, but there he is, behind the kids, his walk long and slow, his eyes on the ground. He stops when he catches up to the kids but says nothing to Terry. Nor does he meet his eye. It’s odd, but Terry’s used to him.
‘Scott,’ he says, ‘doing a bit of golf-ball salvaging?’
Scott focuses his bloodshot eyes somewhere between Terry’s nose and his mouth. ‘Boys wanted to have a go at it. I’d said I’d give them a hand then take them for a late surf.’ He pushes a hand through his hair, which is long and blond and curled stiff with salt.
‘Great day for a surf,’ says Terry although, really, he’s got no idea. All he knows is that it’s not raining, which has to be a good start.
Scott keeps playing with his hair but doesn’t answer. There’s an earthy, sweet smell about him. It’s the way he always smells. A few years ago, Terry mentioned it to Tania, just in passing. He can still see the astonishment on her face.
‘Don’t tell me,’ she’d said. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know that smell.’
When he’d looked blank, she’d burst out laughing. ‘Dope, Terry, that’s the smell. That’s what dope smells like. And that’s what Scott smells like, because he’s always stoned.’
Now he smiles at his naivety, and Cody looks up at him, curious. Terry gives him a wink. ‘Here’s a lesson, Cody boy: you’re never too old to learn something new.’
But Cody’s got no idea what he’s talking about and Terry’s not about to clarify it. Besides, it’s already late and they’ll need to makea move if they’re to get a surf in, so they keep walking, the three of them, Kurt in the lead, Cody scrambling after him and Scott loping behind, as though there’s a cushion of air between him and the ground.
As he watches them go, it occurs to him that maybe Scott’s too stoned to be driving the kids around. And if he is, what’s he, Terry, to do about it? While he’s deciding whether to chase after them or just let them go, Kurt circles back so he can join Scott, who slings an arm over the boy’s shoulders. They keep on walking then, Scott and Kurt side by side, Cody a bit in front, and soon they’re too far to catch anyway.
Sid gives Terry a shout to get a move on and Terry hollers back, ‘Hold your horses, I’m on my way!’
Nina
Marina Cincotta is Nina’s best friend, and having her at Stenton Public is one of the school’s drawcards—especially on Wednesday mornings, when they both have an hour free. They catch up in the staffroom; Nina makes the coffee while Marina stretches out along a row of vinyl armchairs. Today, she’s wearing a rainbow-coloured kaftan. Her hair, wild and dark and long, is out, and curls down past her shoulders.
‘So, how’s cranky Steve?’ This is what Marina always calls him—because he always sounds cranky on the phone.
The criticism would rankle if it came from anyone else, but because it’s Marina, Nina just laughs. ‘Fine,’ she says, handing her friend a mug of coffee. ‘He’s fine.’
Marina sits up to drink it. ‘The big new job going okay?’
‘I think so. The money’s good at least.’
‘Got to like a man who brings home the bacon.’ She winces as she swallows. ‘Did you put any sugar at all in this?’
‘Three,’ Nina says. ‘I shovelled in three teaspoons of the stuff.’
Peering into the cup, Marina looks unconvinced. ‘The thing is,’ she says, ‘I need a bit of a sugar kick to recharge me. I’m still recovering from the weekend.’
Nina gives her the once-over. ‘A good one?’
Marina stretches her arms in front of her. ‘Let me tell you, Nina Ballerina, the drought has broken!’
Nina laughs. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, party on Saturday night and there he
Terry smiles. ‘Good work,’ he says, but Cody’s still got more to tell.
‘We reckon we’ll get thirty, minimum. Dad says they’re everywhere, golf balls that just get left here.’
Terry hadn’t noticed Scott, but there he is, behind the kids, his walk long and slow, his eyes on the ground. He stops when he catches up to the kids but says nothing to Terry. Nor does he meet his eye. It’s odd, but Terry’s used to him.
‘Scott,’ he says, ‘doing a bit of golf-ball salvaging?’
Scott focuses his bloodshot eyes somewhere between Terry’s nose and his mouth. ‘Boys wanted to have a go at it. I’d said I’d give them a hand then take them for a late surf.’ He pushes a hand through his hair, which is long and blond and curled stiff with salt.
‘Great day for a surf,’ says Terry although, really, he’s got no idea. All he knows is that it’s not raining, which has to be a good start.
Scott keeps playing with his hair but doesn’t answer. There’s an earthy, sweet smell about him. It’s the way he always smells. A few years ago, Terry mentioned it to Tania, just in passing. He can still see the astonishment on her face.
‘Don’t tell me,’ she’d said. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know that smell.’
When he’d looked blank, she’d burst out laughing. ‘Dope, Terry, that’s the smell. That’s what dope smells like. And that’s what Scott smells like, because he’s always stoned.’
Now he smiles at his naivety, and Cody looks up at him, curious. Terry gives him a wink. ‘Here’s a lesson, Cody boy: you’re never too old to learn something new.’
But Cody’s got no idea what he’s talking about and Terry’s not about to clarify it. Besides, it’s already late and they’ll need to makea move if they’re to get a surf in, so they keep walking, the three of them, Kurt in the lead, Cody scrambling after him and Scott loping behind, as though there’s a cushion of air between him and the ground.
As he watches them go, it occurs to him that maybe Scott’s too stoned to be driving the kids around. And if he is, what’s he, Terry, to do about it? While he’s deciding whether to chase after them or just let them go, Kurt circles back so he can join Scott, who slings an arm over the boy’s shoulders. They keep on walking then, Scott and Kurt side by side, Cody a bit in front, and soon they’re too far to catch anyway.
Sid gives Terry a shout to get a move on and Terry hollers back, ‘Hold your horses, I’m on my way!’
Nina
Marina Cincotta is Nina’s best friend, and having her at Stenton Public is one of the school’s drawcards—especially on Wednesday mornings, when they both have an hour free. They catch up in the staffroom; Nina makes the coffee while Marina stretches out along a row of vinyl armchairs. Today, she’s wearing a rainbow-coloured kaftan. Her hair, wild and dark and long, is out, and curls down past her shoulders.
‘So, how’s cranky Steve?’ This is what Marina always calls him—because he always sounds cranky on the phone.
The criticism would rankle if it came from anyone else, but because it’s Marina, Nina just laughs. ‘Fine,’ she says, handing her friend a mug of coffee. ‘He’s fine.’
Marina sits up to drink it. ‘The big new job going okay?’
‘I think so. The money’s good at least.’
‘Got to like a man who brings home the bacon.’ She winces as she swallows. ‘Did you put any sugar at all in this?’
‘Three,’ Nina says. ‘I shovelled in three teaspoons of the stuff.’
Peering into the cup, Marina looks unconvinced. ‘The thing is,’ she says, ‘I need a bit of a sugar kick to recharge me. I’m still recovering from the weekend.’
Nina gives her the once-over. ‘A good one?’
Marina stretches her arms in front of her. ‘Let me tell you, Nina Ballerina, the drought has broken!’
Nina laughs. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, party on Saturday night and there he
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